


Love Potion #953

by dracofiend



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Slash, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofiend/pseuds/dracofiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Casey is afflicted with a mysterious, undiagnosed illness, courtesy of certain North Koreans using their powers for evil rather than good. Chuck saves him. Set in early season Chuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Potion #953

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my last [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/)**hc_bingo** card prompt from 2010! Here endeth the lesson.

“Oh my god, Casey!” Chuck rushed into the room where Casey was sitting, bound to a chair beneath flickering fluorescent lights. “What happened? Are you—” He broke off, his fingers falling still on the yards of filament strapping tape that had been wound around Casey’s trunk. Quickly, Chuck yanked out four tiny projectiles that were sunk like parasites into the front of Casey’s shirt. “What happened?” he asked frantically. “They tranqed you?”

“Nng,” grunted Casey, in the negative. “Don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t a tranq gun. Stop it, bozo, get the knife from my boot. My _other_ boot.”

Chuck hurried to obey. “I can’t…find…”

“Get in there,” hissed Casey. “I’m not going to kick in your face.”

“Only because you can’t move your legs,” mumbled Chuck, finally fishing out the knife. It was damp and very warm. He flipped open the blade, which was shockingly large, and slashed Casey free. “Okay great, let’s go—Sarah’s in their lab, she’s taking care of the photos—” Another grunt turned Chuck back around. Casey was staggering to his feet.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chuck asked, more out of courtesy than inquiry, because they really had to run. The bad guys would be there any second. Chuck only hoped Sarah had been able to get the photographs they’d come for—intelligence on formulas being developed by a team of covert North Korean scientists, to be used in biological warfare against the free world. “Come on, chop chop, we’ve got to get Sarah—”

Casey shook his head hard, as if to clear it, and Chuck stepped in—only to be grabbed by the shirt-front and pushed to the wall.

“OW!” His head thudded, once, and then hit Casey’s palm.

“Oh I’m sorry, did that hurt?” Casey said. His voice had gone all throaty, and he was looking at Chuck with that odd scary leer.

“What was that for?” Chuck demanded angrily.

“That was for bringing Walker into it,” Casey growled. His eyes glinted ferociously—and then he was back to the leer. Chuck frowned, and tried to push off the wall back onto his feet. He didn’t move.

“What? Let me up, man, we’ve got to find Sarah and get out of here before—”

Casey banged him into the wall.

“Agh!” Chuck yelped instinctively, even though it hadn’t done more than jar him, like a mini-earthquake. A tremor, really, nothing that would raise eyebrows anywhere in California. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Grrrh,” came from the lower depths of Casey’s throat, and he leaned in. Chuck’s chin immediately shot up.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he breathed, sensing Casey’s teeth near his jugular. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but, but—” And then it hit him. “Casey, Casey, listen to me. Whatever they shot you with, it’s, it’s messed you up, it’s turned you against…me…”

He trailed off abruptly with a _meep_ as bristly skin scraped over his neck. Hot, bristly skin.

It was Casey’s jaw. And that was Casey’s carbon dioxide, firing beneath Chuck’s ear.

“Casey…?” Chuck whimpered.

“Nghr,” was the response. It sounded—predatory.

Chuck thought maybe that should’ve been a relief because that was how Casey normally sounded, and any aspect of normal was very welcome at that instant, but it wasn’t a relief because THAT was Casey’s huge, huge hand sliding up Chuck’s chest. Chuck could feel each broad fingertip, the wide base of his palm and the iron wrist, pressing down and settling just under Chuck’s collarbone.

“Hey, buddy?” Chuck tried again, tentatively. “I, uh, I think we should get going…”

Casey drew his head back sharply—Chuck winced at the burn. “Gah!”

“You don’t like it?” demanded Casey in that guttural voice, which was starting to freak Chuck out just a little bit. “You said it was chiseled by Michelangelo himself.”

Chuck stared at him as incomprehendingly as he dared.

“My jaw!” Casey insisted. “You were under truth serum.”

Chuck had opened his mouth to protest (maybe)—his eyes narrowed in recollection. “You know what, I did say that didn’t I?” he murmured. He straightened up swiftly as Casey’s bulgy-eyed glower gave way to a sharkish grin.

“Wha—no, hey, just hang on a sec, big boy,” Chuck huffed out weakly, trying to smile. “So you remember we’re here on a mission, right? We’re here to steal military secrets for the NSA and CIA—eep!” Casey’s fingers were boring into his clavicle like oil drills.

“You mean we’re here to defend our country against Commie scum and their killer germs,” Casey said, gritting his teeth. Chuck’s eyes flew open wide; he looked over Casey’s shoulder toward the door and the slice of gray corridor beyond.

There were thumbs on his throat.

“Looking for Walker?” Casey asked softly. Chuck couldn’t focus too well on his eyes, Casey was so close, except to tell they were dark. His pupils were blown. “Don’t,” Casey whispered.

“No, I wasn’t!” Chuck started to say, but then the thumbs on either side of his Adam’s apple squeezed in slightly. “I wasn’t! I was, I was looking out for the, you know, the guys with the guns!” He wheezed noisily. “Can you—buddy, can you ease up? Please?” He batted uselessly at Casey’s taut forearms. “Just watching your back!”

Casey’s arms relaxed a hair, and Chuck inhaled gratefully. He could smell Casey—manly, Classic Old Spice—and something else. Musky and almost spicy. _The drugs,_ Chuck thought. _He’s sweating them out already. God, how long will it take? He had four darts in him! And where the hell is Sarah?_

“No need,” Casey said, still dangerously quiet, but less menacing than before. “That’s my job. I’m here to protect you.”

Chuck seized his chance. “Yeah,” he smiled, forcing a laugh. It was tough with Casey’s palms still caging his throat. “Course y’are. Big guy. So how about letting me go and—”

“Because you’re weak,” Casey continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “You’re _soft._ Like an egg.”

Chuck made an incredulous face. “Whoa, hey. I think I deserve a little more—”

“I’ve baked muffins more rugged than you,” Casey sneered.

“Yeah, well, were they bran?” Chuck responded snidely, and instantly wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Casey had pushed forward until the tips of their noses touched. Chuck was literally breathing in Casey’s air.

Chuck suddenly found he was uncomfortably hot.

“Yes they were,” Casey growled, his words nearly too low to hear. His drug-dark eyes shone at Chuck, as if to displace soul from body, and then he was biting into Chuck’s mouth, pressing Chuck’s back flush to the wall, leaving no room for Chuck to do anything but take it.

“Oh my god CASEY!”

Chuck jolted up at the sound of Sarah storming into the room—or, he would’ve, except Casey’s barrel-shaped body had him completely pinned down. Chuck’s eyes had flashed open, though, to Casey’s furrowed angry face, kissing him (!) with eyes tightly shut. For a second Chuck could only watch the small flutter of Casey’s eyelids, the twitch of his eyelashes, the bridge of his nose. Then Casey’s eyes were open and he was flipping around.

“Sarah he’s been shot—” Chuck managed to get out before Casey’s large hot hand clamped over most of his face.

“He’s been shot?” Sarah cried out, but then Casey lunged.

“What are you doing?” Sarah shouted, ducking out of the way. “Grrrrrhnn!” Casey bellowed, Incredible-Hulk-like, and leaped forward, relinquishing his hold on Chuck.

“With drugs! Shot up with drugs!” Chuck yelped. “Augh!” He tried and failed to dodge Casey’s fist, which uncurled before landing and gripped his shoulder hard.

“Get back!” Casey ordered, baring teeth. He gave Chuck a mighty shove; Chuck scuttled to the corner.

“What kind of drugs?” Sarah called out, and Casey whipped back around to face her.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Chuck squealed. “He seemed fine when I found him! He was all taped up to that chair and he told me to get the knife out of his boot to cut the tape off him because it was that kind of tape you can’t peel off because of the fibery things in it so I did and he got up and we were about to go and that’s when he turned all Tarzan on me!”

“What? Tarzan??” Sarah shouted back between jabs and crouches.

“Yeah, you know, him Tarzan, me Jane!” Chuck yelled, noting with chagrin that the current pitch of his voice certainly qualified him to be a very fair Jane.

“Are you kidding me?” Sarah panted, twisting to plant an elbow into Casey’s ribs. “Never mind, forget it—we don’t have time for this.” She followed the elbow with a punch to Casey’s left eye, and then another to his right eye.

“RAAAAHHR!” thundered Casey, clutching at his face. Sarah darted across to Chuck and yanked him with her by the sleeve.

“Chuck! Come ON!”

“What? But—”

“Casey, I’ve got Chuck,” Sarah projected over Chuck’s bewilderment. “If you want him, you’ll have to come get him.” She jerked at Chuck’s sleeve and bounded toward the door.

“Ohhhhhh,” Chuck said, almost tripping as Sarah pulled him out. They raced down the corridor.

“Left ahead,” Sarah called to Chuck, who was a step behind.

“Wait, Sarah!” Chuck panted. “He’s not coming! I don’t—I can’t hear him behind us!”

“What? Oh, for god’s sake.” Sarah sprinted past Chuck, back the way they came. “If we get killed by a bunch of scientists because of him, I’m going to kill him.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Chuck gasped alongside her. A few moments more and they were back at the far end of the corridor where they’d started—and the sound of a chair being thrown repeatedly against a wall came clanging from the doorway just around the corner, followed by the rumbling, rising roar of an angry beast, which crescendoed into a wounded howl.

The sound of it left Chuck and Sarah speechless.

“Should we—go in?” Chuck whispered, hoping so hard she’d say no.

Sarah shook her head, and Chuck’s eyes closed in relief. “Tarzan, right?” Sarah whispered. Chuck nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, “yell for him to come save you.”

Chuck’s eyes lit up.

“Casey!” he shouted, standing up very straight. “Casey HELP!”

It was like a switch. The chair fell silent; Casey’s running feet pounded around the bend half an instant later. Suddenly Chuck found himself grabbed around the neck (“OW! What is it with you guys and my neck?!”) and being dragged backwards. Milling his arms to keep his balance, he locked eyes with John Casey, who was bearing down like a locomotive, hands open, fingers together, elbows bent at ninety degree angles, pumping away like sprinters’ arms. Casey looked straight back at him, Terminator-style.

Chuck was scared at what would happen when Casey caught up. And then, maybe because he was so nervous he wasn’t even thinking, or maybe because he was just getting into being Jane, he let out an anxious patter of _CaseyCaseyCaseyCasey_ , like he’d done so many times before.

Casey’s feet flew. His eyes widened, his Italian-sculpted jaw untightened, and his lips parted, showing the top edge of teeth that had felt like itty-bitty spurs, all around the outer curve of Chuck’s mouth. For a moment Chuck’s heart beat in time with the rise and fall of Casey’s thick arms; in time with Casey’s own.

“Turn around and _run_ , Chuck!” Sarah hollered right in his ear.

Chuck scrambled for footing as Sarah let him go and took off. “Yes ma’am!” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Hurry Casey!” he shouted, and dashed down the hall.

Afterwards, after they’d made it out of the complex (in the end they’d had to tranq Casey to get him into the chopper) and delivered the goods to Beckman, Chuck and Sarah went to the hospital, to see how Casey was doing.

He seemed pretty out of it.

“Hey, big guy. Glad you made it out alive.” Chuck smiled down at Casey’s half-shut eyes.

“Yeah, even I was worried for a while back there,” Sarah said. “Just kidding,” she added hastily, when Casey’s eyes suddenly blinked open.

“Ngh,” Casey grunted drowsily.

Sarah patted his shoulder. “Rest up. We’ve got another mission coming. We have to track down arms dealers suspected of smuggling weapons by disassembling them and hiding the parts in shipments of automotive equipment, then reassembling them once they’re back on the ground.”

Chuck grinned. “Hear that? Guns and cars. Your favorites.”

“Ngh,” Casey grunted contentedly.

“Oh,” Sarah said, pulling out her buzzing phone and answering it. “General Beckman. Yes.” She turned to the door. “Be right back,” she said to Chuck.

Chuck looked back at Casey, and saw he was asleep. “Nighty night,” he murmured. He moved around the bed and reached for the door.

“Hng,” came Casey’s sleepy voice. Chuck turned around. Casey was looking at him in a dozy kind of way. He pushed himself up a little and yawned, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Chuck said. “It’s okay, you know. You can be unconscious now.” He smiled, one hand on the door knob.

“They didn’t give me much detail on what happened,” Casey said, “other than telling me that I was shot four times with some cocktail of drugs that’s now classified.”

“Yep,” Chuck agreed. “And they still couldn’t kill ya. Should’ve gone for that fifth round. Ka-pow!”

Casey’s grunt was faintly proud. “Walker told me it turned me into Tarzan,” he continued after a pause.

“Yeah. Sure did. Yeah.” Chuck nodded. “I don’t think anyone was surprised. I mean that in a good way.” He stopped, not meaning to go on, but Casey’s look was gradually morphing into a glare.

“She also told me,” Casey resumed slowly, grating the words on his tongue, “that you said—you were Jane.”

Chuck cringed inwardly. Casey’s glare turned laser-like.

“Look, dude, I wasn’t going to bring it up, but yeah, all right? I was Jane. I was the man they called Jane.” Chuck held up his hands.

“Huh-huh,” Casey grunt-laughed.

“Good, glad you got a chuckle out of it,” Chuck said. “That’s my contribution to your recuperation right there. See ya.” He went to the door.

“Bartowski.”

“What?” Chuck turned back yet again.

Blank-faced, Casey stared at him. “What?” Chuck repeated.

“Did I—I didn’t…do anything to you, while I was on those things, did I?”

Chuck couldn’t breathe. It was like being pinned down by the biggest barrel-shaped body. What he hadn’t told Sarah, or Morgan, and probably wouldn’t tell anyone, ever, was that when Casey had closed over him with his arms and his chest and his weight and his _mouth_ —Chuck had remembered what it meant to be safe.

“Nah,” Chuck said, taking in the way Casey’s stare loosened all at once, in visible relief. “Although, you did say that if I were a double corona—is that a kind of cigar?—you’d suck me down in three minutes flat.”

He allowed himself one second of spastic Caseyface before jumping out the door and shutting it firmly behind him.


End file.
